


Terminal Velocity

by Gamebird



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamebird/pseuds/Gamebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Season 4, "Let It Bleed". Peter and Noah are staging Nathan's death-by-plane crash as per canon. After setting everything up, they have to jump out of the plane during flight and parachute to safety. These are Peter's thoughts as he falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminal Velocity

" _Pull the cord, Peter! … Peter? … Peter? Peter, you need to pull the cord, now!"_

Noah's voice was loud in Peter's ear due to the little earpiece, the Secret Service-esque device Noah had insisted he wear in case they got separated on the trip down. No matter how good the audio connection, Noah was still easy to ignore. Peter had jumped first, having disconnected the AAD which would have otherwise automatically engaged his reserve chute past a certain point. He wouldn't say he'd made up his mind to let gravity kill him, but he left the device on the seat anyway. Obviously Noah had seen it, because he started yelling in Peter's ear immediately. It was nice to think someone cared.

Being here, falling through the clear, clean sky should have been Peter's element – 'head in the clouds', or so his whole family had told him at different times. It was so much less painful than being grounded, serious, and responsible like he was supposed to be, like he had to be, now that Nathan was gone. At the moment he could ignore the expectations. Adrenaline made the whole world have such distracting, startling clarity. He could sense … everything. The stars sparkled up above. His skin tingled, increasingly numbed by the chill, damp evening air rushing past him. His hair whipped into his face and over the goggles shielding his eyes, long strands lashing him furiously. He could feel every one. It was like flying, so much like flying. He spread his arms, embracing the night and letting a peace settle over him that he had been too long without.

" _Peter! PETER! Pull the cord, Peter! Pull either of them! The backup cord! Peter? Can you hear me?"_

Peter hadn't paid much attention earlier when Noah explained about their route – something about the autopilot, the terrain, and safety margins. Peter had been absorbed looking at Nathan, situating him properly in the cramped seat. It was silly to put a seatbelt on a corpse, but Peter didn't want him falling over. It looked undignified and Peter wouldn't have that. He'd take care of his brother, now that Nathan couldn't take care of himself. He just wished he'd been able to do more, but it was too late now. Peter knew that, but it didn't keep him from reaching over during their bumpy takeoff to twine his fingers into the short hair at the back of Nathan's head, keeping it from lolling and bouncing.

Getting Nathan into his final position had caused Peter's stomach to churn. The weight of his body was tangible, irrefutable proof of his brother's death. Although Peter was strong and Nathan was no larger than normal for his frame, it was still a nearly superhuman effort to maneuver the body between the seats and angle it into the pilot's chair on the left side of the craft. But Peter was not superhuman, no matter how much he wished he was. He couldn't even keep Nathan's head still and that small failing had almost broken his fragile self control. Peter's desperate efforts to get Nathan where they needed him to be left him nearly crying in frustration and rage on his brother's behalf, that Peter couldn't even do  _this_  right.

Noah's tone changed to begging. _"Peter, please pull the_ _cord. Do not put this on me. I will carry this with me forever if you don't_ _ **pull the fucking cord**_ _. Please, Peter."_

He could see the approaching ground as a great blackness, interspersed with the lights of farmhouses and the traceries of roads, revealed by the slow crawl of automobiles. Peter had seen it before, in flight and out the windows of planes. He'd marveled at the tiny world and how much of it he could see from up high. He remembered being all of thirteen, confidently telling Nathan - "We're like angels up here in the sky. God must see everything at once because he's up even higher!" He'd been staring out the window as they jetted off to France on a vacation. Nathan had tousled his hair, not so different from the way the wind tossed it now.

He was going so fast. The ground was coming up so soon. Then it would be over. He'd felt this way before, leaping off a building to prove the point that life wasn't worth living if you couldn't live it at your full potential, if you couldn't be the best you could be. Peter felt like such a failure – his 'best' had seen Nathan killed. Without his brother in his life, Peter felt he would never be at his full potential – an important piece would be forever missing. Any moment now, Nathan would fly up to catch him just like he had then, when Peter had leapt off the building. That would be the end. Any moment now. Peter didn't have regeneration. It would be quick. It would be final.  _We're like angels, Na_ _than._

" _Peter,"_ Noah's voice sounded low and calm through the ear piece, as if he'd finally taken a moment to think of what might get through, _"I know what happened in that hotel room. Nathan sacrificed himself … for you. If you kill yourself, then he died for **nothing**. You know that, right? You'll be making the most noble thing he ever did … meaningless."_

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes for the third time in as many days. His chest ached in a sudden spasm as he tried to choke off the sob that wanted to escape. He knew that Nathan would have wanted him to live. As proof, Nathan had saved him, time after time. What kind of brother was Peter that he would take Nathan's ultimate gift of love and throw it away? The ground blurred as he fumbled for the D-ring at the end of the cord, fingers too slow and he knew it. The upwards yank by the chute deploying was a shock and far too short a time after that, a second shock pulsed through him like a hammer blow as he hit the ground. Gravity bludgeoned him full force, but he was young, fit, and had much of his velocity cut by the parachute, even if opened late.

He was lying on his back in a field, everything hurting as he looked up with tear-filled eyes. Above him, a blurry form came drifting down serenely on square, billowing wings of gossamer. Hands out to either side moved up and down, making the wings flutter and dip.

_Angels …_


End file.
